


Twice Shy

by ToothPasteCanyon (DannyFenton123)



Series: Magic 101 Entries [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Transcendence (Gravity Falls), Gen, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-02 04:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16779406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DannyFenton123/pseuds/ToothPasteCanyon
Summary: She can see us, but she can't see what's coming.Formerly titled 'Bantermask'





	1. Chapter 1

Hot summer day. Blue sky, bright sun. Heat glistening on the tarmac. Boiling pavements, cool shadows. Movement in the alleys.

What was that? Just a cat. Matted fur, no collar. A car goes by, and it watches with hungry eyes. In the alley, a door opens. It darts away.

A figure comes out. Red robes, thick and heavy and trailing on the ground. Hood over face, head bowed, hiding. Kicks a little wooden door stop under the frame. Looks around. Goes back inside with the air conditioning.

That car passes by again. It stops. Parks. Nobody comes out. Tinted window – only dark shapes inside. Dark, moving shapes.

The shape stills. On the street, a centaur passes the alley. Thin t-shirt, red face, shining sweat on his hindquarters. He trots fast, eyes on the pavement, seeing nothing.

Now he’s gone. The car door opens. Man in a nice jacket steps out. Red robes draped over his arm, held close to his chest. He looks this way, that way, and darts into the alley. Amongst the shadows, he dons the robe, pulls the hood over his face and slips inside. He’s gone.

Soon after, another man comes. He’s carrying a bag on one shoulder. When he gets to the alley, he stops. Backs into the shadows, puts his bag down. Draws out a thick red robe, slips it on and goes through the door. He’s gone.

Time passes. More come, one by one, with red robes they cradle like shameful secrets. One by one they enter the alley, put them on, and disappear inside the building. After a time, the doorstop is taken out, and the door swings shut. They’re all gone.

That’s all the security camera could pick up. Inside the building?

It’s dark. Cool. Quiet. Ten foldable chairs are arranged around the centre of the room, but only one robed figure has sat down. The rest are in the back, talking with their hoods down. They smile here. They laugh, and it carries across the room. They stick their chests out, and now a little insignia can be seen on the front of their robe. A yellow triangle.

A toilet flushes. A few moments later, a figure emerges from the bathroom. Same heavy robes, same hood over their head, obscuring their face. Different colour. Yellow. Bright yellow, like lemon's rind.

A hush comes over the room. Those in the back shuffle towards their seats, put their hoods up, and bow their heads. The yellow-robed figure reaches the front. The lights seem to dim as it turns. It’s absolutely silent but for the hum of the air conditioning.

The figure in yellow sticks out a fist. As if by magic, the floor beneath them comes alive with golden lines. One thick triangle, smaller brickwork etching, and a single, wide eye. It flares up, and then keeps a steady glow as the figure begins to speak.

“Behold,” She says. “It is I. The One-Eyed Beast. The Terror of Gravity Falls. The Bringer of the Transcendence, the True Demon of Chaos. The real Bill Cipher.”

The ten figures bow their heads deeper. She looks at them all, and slowly lowers her fist.

“Everyone is here? Good. Now take down your hoods; I want to see you are all who you say you are.”

The glow underneath her slowly fades as they obey. She looks over their heads and nods, once.

“Good. We’re all safe here. You’re all human.” She turns sharply and points at the door. “But out there? Out there is dangerous for people like you. Ever since the Transcendence, monsters have come out of the shadows and forced good humans like you to hide away! To conceal who you are. To let them reign over you with their magic, with their power that you could never hope to match. It’s not fair, is it?”

Figures shake their heads. In the back, one grips the edges of their seat until their knuckles turn white.

“I hear you, friends. One day, you won’t have to hide away anymore. One day, I will free myself from my human body, and I will become an all-powerful demon again. Alcor and his friends may have brought the Transcendence upon us, but I will rise again and I will reverse it!” She stretched her arms out. The yellow robes hung from her figure. “We will banish them all – centaurs, fairies, werewolves, trolls, even dragons – back to the storybooks where they belong! And you, my friends, you will take your cities back. You will walk on the streets without fear. Everything that they have stolen from you, you will take back! Stay with me, friends, and that day will come!”

There is a cheer from the seats. From under her hood, a fanged smile. Her voice softens.

“Until then, patience. We have so many enemies in this world, and the timing must be perfect. Patience, friends. Do nothing, say nothing.” She steps closer, and the robes trail behind her. “Patience. You may want to act; you can confess that to me. I will listen. But you must be patient. Stay with me, and your time will come. That is all.”

The figures stand and clap. In the back, one stays still. The figure in yellow gives a short bow, and steps away. Two, three, four people follow, while the rest begin picking up their chairs and folding them away.

The yellow-robed figure faces the wall as people line up behind her. Their hoods up, they lean forwards and whisper secrets into her ear. That fanged smile freezes on her face as she listens; sometimes she nods, sometimes she says in a low voice, “Patience, patience.” When they finish, they slip money into her hand and turn away. Then, the next in line lean forwards.

She stays there, even after the last has finished speaking to her. Behind her, the chairs are neatly stacked against the wall. The figures begin to take off their robes, begin to filter out through the door. The one who stayed still in his seat suddenly shoots up and stalks out of the room. Somebody else puts away his chair.

Now, they are all gone. The figure in yellow is alone. She lets out a breath. She stretches her arms up, and the robes slip down to her elbows. Tight, shriveled skin. Claws tipping her fingers. No left pinky.

“Ahhhhh… alright.” She sighs as she puts her arms down. Then, she shuffles towards the bathroom. “Good show, good show.”

It’s a small bathroom. One toilet, one sink, one big lock. She turns it, and then takes down her hood. Smooths out her hair. Unties the robe at her collar, and lets it off like a great weight falling from her shoulders.

“Good show.” She says again, and sneaks a grin at the mirror. “You still know how to work it, you ugly bastard.”

She breathes. And then she picks up her yellow robe, and folds it carefully. The money in her hand she counts, and grimaces. It's lower than it was last week. A backpack loiters by the door; she places everything in there, and slings it over her arm. Her hair still feels a bit messy, so she takes out her ponytail and does it again.

_Snap_. The hairtie breaks.

“Oh, fuck you.” She tosses it away and goes over to the mirror. She gathers up her hair and drapes it over her shoulder on the side with her red eartag. Her hair doesn’t hide it, of course. It's so thin.

“Going for that stick figure look, huh?” She rolls her eyes at her reflection. “It’s looks _great_ on you.”

She fixes it a bit more, and then heads out. The room is empty; she takes a moment to pick up a little container at the back. Yellow glowing chalk. She’s nearly out. After stuffing it in her backpack, she shoves open the door.

The rush of heat makes her grimace. Then she heads into the sunlight, and it makes her squint. When she blinks, she can still see the glow of the streets behind her eyelids.

“Stupid Arizona. Stupid desert.” She mutters. Muttering is fun. She sees a car pass by, and cracks a dry smile. “Stupid car.”

She walks for a while. It’s hot. The pavement is empty.

“Nobody’s crazy enough to go outside in this temperature. Except me, heh.” She watches a jogger on the other side of the road. “Or that guy. There’s always one.”

The bus stop is up ahead. It’s just two seats, no cover. A guy is already sitting on one of them, and she recognizes him instantly.

Under her breath: “Oh, hey, it’s David. Mr I-Can’t-Stop-Talking-About-My-Centaur-Neighbor. Where’s the car? Did your neighbor look at it wrong? Oh, no, he's obviously cursed it. Can't have that, can we?"

She thinks that was very witty, and she laughs a little as she sits next to him. He gives her (or more precisely, her ear) an odd look. Then he stands up and walks a distance away, his head all stuck up like he's better than her or something. But she’d seen him in red robes. He’d whispered all his secrets to her. Just a few minutes ago he was bowing his head to her – oh, if only he knew.

The thought is hilarious to her, but she manages to keep it mostly in check as she waited for the bus.

“More or less.” She saw a familiar green bus pull up to the nearest intersection. “Glad you’re here, though. Dunno how long I can hold it.”

She stands up, and walks a bit closer to David. She could feel him still eyeing her, and right as the bus pulls in she takes one aggressive step into his personal space and growls deep in her throat. He lets out an honest-to-god squeal and jumps back.

Yup, she can't hold it anymore. She bursts out laughing and quickly hops on the bus just as his wide-eyed terror turns to anger.

“H-hey!” He shouts. She ignores him, pays, and sits herself down next to somebody else. She keeps her head low, and in the corner of her eye she sees him stop by her, his fists shaking with rage. Then the bus moves and he stumbles and catches a pole before he falls. He turns and slinks away without a word.

She keeps chuckling. What a joke. She loves jokes like him.

“I really do.” She sees the stranger she was sitting with shoot her a glance and then put on headphones. “I wonder what they’re listening to.”

She pulls one out and held it to her ear. “Oh, it’s crap. Shame.”

She drops it, and flashes a grin at the stranger's shocked face. The stranger jumps up and moves to a different seat, so she scoots over to the window. Score.

“Hey, small victories, right.” Leaning against the glass, she watches the streets go by. “If that’s all you’re gonna let me have, I’ll take it.”

Bright, sunlit streets. Goosebumps on her arms from the air conditioning. A nice warm robe would be great right about now. She holds her bag close to her chest and sits back in the chair.

Time passes. Her stop is coming up, so she presses the button and heaves herself out of her seat. David is gone, she notices. That makes sense; he lives a few streets down. Still, she thought he might have been mad enough to try and corner her after she got off the bus. That would have been hilarious.

The bus judders to a halt, and she waves at the driver as she steps off. Now it's hot again, “Because of course it is. Gross.” She slings the bag over her back, again. “I can’t imagine why you’d be watching this, though. Ooh, it’s hot, and then it’s cold, and then it’s hot again? Riveting stuff.”

“It’s weird, though.” She starts walking, a grin on her face and sweat pooling on the back of her neck. “You don’t feel like Alcor, you know? I know him - he’s always been creeping around my life, but you? No, I don’t quite know who you are. You showed up when Alcor burned my house down, and now, you’re here again. Just watching. I wonder what that means.”

She cuts through a nice grass lawn, going up some steps to the front door of a house. “Probably nothing good. You seem like you’re just here when it gets interesting. Here to watch everything crash and burn like it always does with me.” She snorts. “Jeez, and they say I’m the messed up one. Well, whatever. I can’t stop you.” She takes out a ring of keys. “Name’s Barbara, by the way. I know it makes me sound like some bonkers old lady, but I guess that’s pretty fitting these days.”

Barbara sets her bag down and starts to sift through her collection of keys. And it is a collection indeed; some of them are car keys to vehicles she no longer owned, some of them are little trinkety pieces for file cabinets she really should have returned by now. One of them is the front door key.

Then she pauses, and tries the handle. It opens, and she rolls her eyes.

“I’m such an idiot.”

She picks up her bag and shuffles inside. The first thing she sees is Robert, sprawled across the living room couch, his hooves propped up against the arm, surfing through channels. His ears perk up at the sound of the door opening, and he smiles when he sees her.

“Oh, you’re back early! I thought I heard someone outside.” He swings his hooves off the couch and stands up. “So, how’d it go?”

“The interview? Eh, it was a bit of a bust.” Barbara shrugs as she slips off her shoes. “Don’t think I’m getting the job.”

“What happened?”

“They just didn’t really seem all that interested, I guess. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Robert makes a face. “That sucks. Hey, maybe you just dressed a bit too casual? Maybe my wife has something nice you could borrow. Uh, I don’t know if she has pants for you though, being a satyr and all-“

“No, no, it’s fine.” She lifts up the bag. “I just changed out of my nice clothes. Didn’t want them getting all sweaty.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I mean, jeez, you think I’m a real amateur at this, don’t you? I know you don’t show up to a job interview in a t-shirt and jeans. It’s like you think I’m not trying my hardest to get a job and, you know, get out of your way.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant! Barb,” He put a hand on her shoulder. “You can stay here as long as you want. I just want to help you get back on your feet, okay?”

“Heh. Are you trying to make me feel bad or something?”

“Don’t feel bad, please. I know you’d do the same for me.”

“I need to go to the bathroom.” She brushes off his hand. “S’cuse me.”

“Oh, okay! Hey, I found this new show I think you’d like! Do you wanna watch it tonight?”

“You know I’m busy.”

He rolls his eyes. “I mean, before I take you to the shelter, obviously. It’s called, uh, ‘Unicorn Riders’; it’s this post apocalyptic setting about these unicorns who are trying to kill everyone. And then there's this guy who's half unicorn and - I'm not explaining this great. You should just watch the first episode.”

“Ehhh… what the hell.” Barbara tosses her bag into the bathroom and walks back to the couch. “I’ll watch it.”

“Didn’t you just have to go to the bathroom?”

“Nah, I was just lying to your face.”

Robert snorts. “Oh, okay then.”

“I do that a lot. Blatantly. I’m kind of an asshole, haven’t you noticed?”

“No, you’re not. You’re just…” He sits back down on the couch and picks up the remote. “Let’s just watch the show, huh? I got it queued up already.”


	2. Chapter 2

Six o’clock. The sun is setting on another day; you can see it, just brushing against the side of Camelback Mountain. Light oranges play across the skyline, and the blue gradually deepens and darkens. Soon, the full moon will rise.

Barbara thinks of that, sitting in the passenger seat of Robert’s car. She clenches her fist, feeling the points of her nails press against her palm. She presses a bit more, and it’s painful. One second passes, and then another. Then, she unclenches and sits up, stretching her twitchy muscles. She lets her arms fall back to her sides, and looks down at her lap.

“Oh. There you are again.”

Robert looks over at her. “What was that?”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Barbara leans against the car window, squashing her cheek. “Jeez. Eavesdropping, much?”

He snorts. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Nobody else in the car and I choose to _listen_ to you? God, I oughtta be locked up.”

“The nerve.” Barbara cracks a grin. “So you didn’t want to watch Unicorn Riders, huh? Shame. It was pretty good.”

“What? Are you talking to me?”

She shrugs, and keeps that grin on her face. Robert glances over at her and returns a confused smile.

“Seriously, I can never tell if you’re joking. Am I missing something, or…?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, uh, okay.”

The sun sinks behind the mountain. The road ahead darkens. Barbara feels her leg clench up. A dull burn radiates up her muscles, and she rubs it. It relaxes, but the burning remains. It’s only going to get worse, she knows.

“You alright over there?” Robert asks. She cracks her knuckles one by one, hearing the satisfying noise they always gave on full moon nights. Loose joints. Wet pops.

“I mean, I’m not having a ball, but I’d say I’m doing alright.”

“We’re almost there.”

“Oh, that makes me feel _so_ much better.”

Robert hesitates. “Well, uh, hey, you want to go get breakfast in the morning or something?”

“And deal with me right after I’ve woken up? You’re brave, man.”

“I’ll take my chances. You can’t be too grumpy over a plate of pancakes, right?”

“Oh, you underestimate me. Let’s not test that out.”

“Hah. So, what do you say?”

“I just told you.” She sits back, an eye on the darkened skies. “Let’s not test that out.”

Robert’s smile falls. “Oh. Okay. I can never tell when you’re joking.”

“Maybe some other time. I’m-“ Barbara winces. “I’m not in a joking mood right now.”

He sighs, and puts his hand on her shoulder. She shakes him off.

“Not in a touching mood, either.”

“Sorry.”

He hesitates, and then reaches over and turns on the radio. Quiet music plays; he turns it up. Barbara pushes his fingers away from the dial and drops it all the way down to zero. Robert shoots a glance at her, and then draws his hand back to the steering wheel.

They ride in silence. Time passes, and Barbara slowly curls in on herself, clutching her stomach. They go over a bump in the road, and her smile stretches. At this point, it resembles more the bared teeth of an animal, pained and menacing.

Finally, they turn into a parking lot. It’s well-lit, but the building ahead is dark. It’s a squat, grey building with no windows and a large red light set up above the entrance. Only a few cars are parked here; when Robert pulls up, there’s a large sign placed in front of his and every other parking space, its large letters clear in the stark lighting.

CAUTION, it reads, WEREWOLF SHELTER. EMPLOYEES AND REGISTERED MEMBERS ONLY.

Registered members. Barbara lets out a snort and brushes a hand against her red eartag. What an awfully nice way to put it.

“Here we are.” Robert watches her struggle for the door handle. He reaches over. “Let me-“

She growls. It rumbles deep in her throat, and he shrinks back. She gets the door open and staggers out, hunched over and hugging her midsection.

“Alright. Cool. I’ll… I’ll pick you up later.” He waves a little. “Have a good… um, I mean-“

Barbara slams the door in his face and walks towards the building. It’s not an unsteady walk, even though the fire is pulsing down her legs and every bone in her body aches and sweat suddenly seems like it’s everywhere, in her hair, on her back, running down her brow. No, she walks quickly towards the entrance, passing all the cars parked up in front.

A few of them are lit up. A van has a man and a little boy sitting in the front, eating takeout. Waiting, obviously. Barbara rolls her eyes.

“Stupid.” She mutters. If she had any family, she wouldn’t want them to wait in a horrible place like this. Go home, she thought. Eat at the table. Come back in the morning, for god’s sakes.

If she had any family.

Barbara finally scowls. “Shut up.” She barks. “Just shut up, okay? Argh!”

She stumbles and catches the door. Her nails scrape against the metal, and she lets out a hard pant as she finds the handle, eyes screwed shut. She peels herself away, pulls it open, and steps inside.

It’s a small grey room that narrows further into a corridor at the back. A desk sits in the middle, and one woman sits behind it. She stares Barbara down as she approaches.

“LY-13…” Barbara says, pauses, gulps, and continues. “SAZ… 17…666.”

“You’re cutting it close.” The woman said. Barbara manages a shrug.

“Got caught up… in a TV show. Unicorn Riders.”

Her lip quirks up. “I love that show. Try to be a little earlier next time, please.” She motions her to the back. “Find your room.”

Barbara staggers past her. She’s lucky she got the woman. Sometimes it was Jude, and Jude happened to be one of the guys in the red robes. He's fun to mess with in the mornings, but right now she just wants to get in her cell.

“Excuse me, they’re _rooms_.” She cracks a smile. “I’m so offended you called them… cells, that’s… totally not what they are.”

She makes her way into a long hallway of small, concrete rooms with metal doors that lock.

“Now isn’t that better?”

Barbara makes her way down the corridor. She doesn’t look at the others, but she can hear them. The groaning, the moaning, the pure human misery; it echoes off the walls and comes back as a single sound. It’s all too familiar to her.

She stumbles into her cell, second from the back. The door closes behind her just as she crumples to the floor. And for a moment she lies there, and she closes her eyes and she concentrates on the cool concrete against her skin.

It’s hard to focus. Her fingers twitch. Her breathing refuses to settle. Her clothes feel like hell against her burning skin. Her mind is becoming… disorganized. A feverish shiver shudders up her spine, and she lets out the quietest little moan before cutting herself off.

Heart jabbing against her chest, she turns her head. A closet is built into the concrete wall, made of shiny metal. There are scratches around the handle she uses to open it.

It’s dark, and there are only a few things sitting on the floor. Someone else’s favourite book. Bright sweaters that don’t fit her, folded with care. A handmade card, enthusiastically coloured pink, with a hint of purple pen peeking out from the inside.

With shaking hands, Barbara picks out the card. She holds it with all the gentleness she can muster. Her eyes trace over the looping hearts drawn on the cover, the sad face staring back at her, scribbled with yellow highlighter. It’s all so much brighter, so much happier than the grey old cell she finds herself in.

Barbara breathes, and opens it. More hearts on the left, and that purple-penned writing on the right.

_Dear BB_ , it starts, and Barbara frowns. Tries to shield it from view.

“Do you mind?” She forces out, and starts to read it again.

_Dear BB,_ it starts. _So sorry to hear you got attacked! I hope you’re feeling okay, and I hope the nurses can read this to you if you’re in a coma or got blind or something. Al's letting me visit you this weekend, and I’m gonna come with all the chocolates and candies and hugs I can buy! (and hugs are free, so that’s infinite hugs) I’m gonna bring you a special present, too, so be prepared!_

_Hope this makes you feel better. I miss you so much, and I can’t wait to see you again. Even if you look super messed up, I don't mind._

_Lots and lots and lots and LOTS of love, Mattie_

Her eyes are watering, but she doesn't have to see the words; she memorized them a long time ago. She grits her teeth and she drags her claws across the concrete, squeezing the tears out of her eyes and letting them fall on the concrete. She doesn’t sob, she refuses to sob – she lays there with the card and she squirms and she sniffs and her face goes red and she opens her mouth and not a word comes out.

Something changes. Down the hallway, the moans and the groans stop – and then they begin to _scream_.

Barbara spasms once. All the muscles down her arm tense; like lightning she shoves the card into the closet and slams the door. Then she sinks down, and lets go.

Her face pressed against the concrete, fire surges down her arm and forces itself into her fingers. They’re burning, they’re cracking, they’re pulling away from her. Her feet shudder and scratch against the floor, her knees jerk up and back down like she’s trying so hard to get up, but it’s involuntary. She pushes herself onto her side and just lays there, her cheek on the concrete, her eyes closed, breathing hard.

Her spine arches in, and the back of her head bumps against the closet. It’s burning her up; sweat soaks her face, and dark patches grow on her clothes. Clothes that are tightening; the loose dignity shirt the shelter gave her now presses against her skin, and tension lines build in the fabric. They rip quickly – they rip, and she drags a long scratch across the floor. These claws leave a mark.

The breath quickens, the neck jerks out, and it’s almost pulled around to its knees. Finally it makes a sound: a growl builds deep in its throat as its jaw clenches tight. Tighter, and tighter still it's wound as its face comes away from its eyes, and fur stitches itself to the skin. A snout stretches out. Ears come to a point, and now it hears far too sharply the screams in the other cells as they turn to roars, to howls.

Its shoulders broaden, just a little more. Its legs tense one last time, and then the fire leaves them. It staggers to the front of the cage, lolling its tongue, panting hard. It rises up, and its ears brush against the ceiling.

Two clawed mitts crash against the metal, and it judders.

Pain. The metal, the silver burns, and the beast jerks back with a yelp. It’s trapped. It’s hungry. It’s lost its mind. It throws itself against the silver again and again and again, but nothing budges. It claws at the walls, and concrete dust gets caught in its fur. It savages the tattered clothes, and it stalks the entrance, beady yellow eyes glaring through the bars.

It sits. After a time, it lies down. All around the shelter, the noises are quieting, the beasts who make them settling down.

It’s an uneasy kind of calm, undercut by growls and punctuated by barks, but a calm nonetheless.

And then: the doors open. Every one of them beeps and slides back, and the beasts go silent. Sit up. Investigate. They sniff the opening, and then take one tentative step outside.

Nothing happens. They duck their heads and take another. No alarms sound, no people come running.

They’re out. They’re free.

It’s almost synchronized, the way they turn and run for the exit, their loping gaits covering the shelter hallways in a matter of seconds. They disappear out the front door. They’re gone.

Silence. True silence. And then:

A scream echoes from the parking lot.


	3. Chapter 3

In the beast’s mind, memories play like dreams, and people it can’t recognize do things it doesn’t understand. It knows it’s missing something, and that confuses the beast. Angers it.

It takes that anger out on everything around it. That streetpole. That window. That front door. Screams hurt its ears, and it moves to silence them. The blood it licks from its fingered paws, the moon shining on its wiry coat.

The feeling the moonlight evokes… it’s beyond your understanding. It’s an itch that isn’t on the body, a high-pitched whine no ear can pick up on. It’s subtle, but in those moments when the beast stands in a broken house full of cooling bodies, and it’s finally quiet, and it’s finally sated… the beast can’t settle.

No, it feels that itch, it hears that awful whine, and it compels them onwards. Where? It might not even be a place on Earth. Some say it’s deep in the Mindscape, some say it’s the Moon itself. Nobody knows, least of all the beast. Still, it stalks the night in search of this place, restless, always restless.

And then it picks up a scent. It hears a scream. Something in its scattered thoughts disturbs it. It grows angry again, and the cycle continues, on and on until daybreak breaks the curse.

For now, the beasts wander restlessly, and they think of memories. They cannot make sense of them, but we can.

Look. It’s day, not night. It’s a dream, not a nightmare. It has ended long ago, while this night has only just begun.

Listen. There are voices. I will tell you what they say.

* * *

Barbara lounges in her chair. Her computer is in front of her, and her hand rests on the mouse. Her tabs are filled with files, her email is stuffed with messages marked, ‘IMPORTANT’, and she clicks through them all. Really, she should be working, but she can’t concentrate. Not today.

Any second now… any second now…

_Ding, ding_!

The doorbell sounds, and Barbara shoots up and darts into the foyer. She glances at the mirror and checks her smile. No red eartag, you may notice. No burns on her hands. No grey hairs speckling her scalp.

She breathes. “Alright. Alright, you got this. You got this.”

Another _ding, ding_! She jumps.

“I'm here! I'm here! One second!” She skips over to the front door and grasps the handle, pulling it open.

A little girl stands on the welcome mat. She wears a pink t-shirt, a flowery school backpack and a smile that shines brighter than the sun. Barbara starts to speak, but like a little whirlwind the girl tackles her in a hug.

“BB!”

“Oof! Mattie!” Barbara leans down and hugs her back. “It’s so good to see you, kid! Jeez, are you trying to take out my legs or something? You’re getting strong!”

She giggles and squeezes tighter.

“Oh no… blood… can’t reach feet… pins and needles… everywhere… muscles…” Barbara sinks to the floor. “Dyyyyyiiiiiinnnngggg. You killed me. I’m dead.”

“Yay!”

“Yay? _Yay?_ You little rascal!” She tickles Mattie, and the girl squeals in delight. “I’ve come back from the dead to haunt youuuu!”

“No! No!”

They collapse on the ground in a pile, giggling. Barbara pats her on the back.

“C’mon, kid. We’re not even in the house yet and you’re already killing me. Put your stuff in the living room, okay? It’s on the left.”

She helps Mattie up, and Mattie skips away. Barbara stands up, and walks over to the front door. She puts her hand on the frame, and looks outside.

No cars sat on the curb outside her house. Her smile fades, and her hand tightens on the frame. She steps back and slams the door.

“Alright!” Barbara jogs back into the living room. “Ready for an awesome weekend at your sister Barb’s house? I know I am!”

* * *

“Are you knitting?”

They’re lounging on the sofa, a movie playing on the TV and pizza beckoning to them from the table. Barbara heard a strange little clacking noise and looked over to see Mattie sitting with a ball of purple wool, working it with a pair of knitting needles whilst her eyes were fixed on the screen. She blinks and looks over at Barbara.

“Huh?”

“Are you knitting? I didn’t know you did that.”

“Oh.” She smiles. “Yeah, I picked it up last summer! I’m not really that good yet – I’m just trying to make a scarf.”

“I mean, jeez, ‘just’ a scarf? I wouldn’t know where to start.” Barbara chuckles. “Don’t know if I’d have the patience, either. That’s awesome, kid. You go.”

Mattie beams up at her. She cuddles closer.

“You’re getting so tall, too.” Barbara strokes her hair. “Every time I see you, you’re like a foot taller. You better not be taller than me next time, okay?”

She giggles, and then the sound fades away. The movie plays, and the light reflects onto her shining eyes. She looks down.

“I wish I got to see you more.”

Barbara sighs. “Me too, kid. Me too.” She kisses the top of her head. “If it were up to me, I’d have you over all the time. I’d never let you go. Never.”

A chill goes down her spine. Mattie doesn’t seem to notice how the room drops ten degrees, how the TV light harshens, how the shadows grow and deepen. How a yellow-brickworked figure appears in the darkness, and stares Barbara down.

Those eyes. Every hair on her body stands on end. When he looks at her like that, she can't help but imagine all the horrible things he could do to her.

Hesitantly, Barbara sits up. She takes her hand away from Mattie, and she scoots back. Mattie looks up at her with eyes so wide, and Barbara stares at the TV.

“It’s not up to me, though.” She says, and grits her teeth. “I’m just glad the person it is up to is so - _kind!_ \- to let me have a - _weekend alone!_ \- with you from time to time.”

The presence draws back. The eyes disappear. Mattie frowns.

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Don’t worry about it, kid. Let’s just watch the movie, okay?” Barbara sits back again. “Man, I haven’t seen Twin Souls in too long. It’s a _real_ classic. You ever seen it before, Mat?”

“No. Alcor won’t let me watch it.”

She chuckles. “Thought so. I bet he’ll be so mad I’m showing you this right now.”

“I won’t tell him.”

“Thanks, kiddo.” Barbara glances at the corridor. “It's alright, though. I think it's funnier if he finds out."

* * *

“Alright, you got eggs, bacon, whole breakfast in bed deal… anything else?” Barbara steps back. “You need anything else?”

A book propped up on her knees and knitting needles in hand, Mattie grins up at her from the couch. “Nope! I’m good!”

“You sure?”

“Yup!”

“Okay. It’s only for an hour, and I’m just gonna be on the computer…” She runs a hand through her hair. “I hate to do this, kid, but I really just gotta answer some emails from my clients. Work. Bleugh. It’s the worst.”

“What are they emailing you about?”

“Just stuff about their cases. Nothing special.”

“Like what?”

“It’s not very interesting, trust me. Just a bunch of people sending me dumb things about their divorces.”

“Oh. Why are they doing that?”

“Because it’s my job?” Barbara chuckles. “You know I’m a lawyer, right?”

“You are?”

“Yeah. What did you think I was?”

Mattie shrugs. “Iunno. I guess I didn't really think about it.”

“Fair enough. Alright,” She steps back. “One last time, you need anything? Anything at all? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Hold your peace? Is that a lawyer thing?”

“No, that’s… that’s what they say in weddings. That’s the exact opposite of my job.”

“Why’s that the opposite-“

“Okay, lots of awesome questions, but if you could just give me an hour I’d really appreciate it. You good?”

“I’m the goodest!”

Barbara sat down at her computer, grinning. “You sure are, kid.”

 _You sure are_.

The memories are fading now. The eyes are opening. She sat at a desk – now she lies on the floor. Concrete – it’s cool against her skin. Familiar.

She blinks. Frowns.

Why does she feel so… awful? More than usual, when she wakes up. Her wrists – they’re a deep, moist red, flecks of black around the edges and a strange tingling where there should be pain. She stares at them. Blinks. Opens her eyes, and sees they're still there.

“What the hell…?” Barbara whispers. She looks up, and sees silver chains dangling from the ceiling above her. Their manacles are bigger, made for much larger wrists than her human ones.

And the cell she lies in… she’s not at the shelter. _She's not at the shelter_. A man in a police uniform walks past her door, and it dawns on her with a rush of ice cold horror. Oh. Oh, no.

She staggers to her feet.

“E-Excuse me!” Stumbling forwards, she latches onto the cell bars. Waves at the guard – a little frantically. “What happened? Who was on duty at the shelter?”

“Ma’am, I can’t answer any questions right now.” The man’s eyes are wide, and he walks backward. “I’ll get you some clothes-“

“How far did I go? Please! The university – did I get that far?”

He scampers away. Barbara rattles the bars, and steps back, breathing hard. There’s a crushing weight on her chest, and she knows. She won’t say it, but she _knows_.

“Shut up.” She hisses, and retreats into the corner. “I could be wrong. I-I’m going to find out what happened, before I… no, I need to know what happened.”

They come for Barbara soon afterwards. They give her clothes, and they lead her to a small medical room. She feels their hand on her shoulder, and she tenses.

Her thoughts race. _Do they know?_ Her eyes dart over to their faces, studies their stony expressions. _They know,_ she thinks. _They can see right through you._

A metal sink. Barbara sees her reflection in it as they take her hands, and wash them. The water washes away flecks of silver on her wrists, and the wound immediately starts to heal. Skin and nerves knit back together before her eyes, and for a second it hurts before the redness scars over.

“Another scar?” She goes for a nervous chuckle. “I was just thinking I needed another one. Hah, right? Right?”

One guard just nods, and she gulps. Takes a breath. Tells herself to shut up already.

She’s not taken back to her cell. She’s taken to a small room, with people who ask her all sorts of fun questions.

“Where were you the night of August twenty-fifth?”

“On the night of August twenty-fifth, did you notice anything unusual happening around the shelter?”

“Annette Randy.” They show her a picture of a woman. It's the lady behind the desk. “Do you have any connection with her?”

Barbara asks for an attorney. They bring her back to the cell, and she waits. Rests her head against the bars, itches her wrists, backs up and paces wall to wall. A noise starts up; it’s faint, but it almost sounds like wailing.

She cringes. Awful sound. But it’s more than that, because she _knows_.

“I don’t know a damn thing.” She grits her teeth. “I just want somebody to tell me what’s going on.”

There’s the sound of a door opening. Footsteps that echo in the long corridors. The wailing seems to reach a height, and Barbara slumps at the back of the cell. Puts her hands over her ears.

She stays there for God knows how long, trying so hard not to listen, and trying even harder not to think.

Time passes. It’s not until she sees a silhouetted figure in front of the cell door that she looks up. She sits forward as he unlocks the door.

“Barb!”

Barbara blinks. That voice.

“There you are!” Robert gallops into the cell and wraps her in a hug. “You’re okay! Oh, my god. I’ve been calling hospitals all morning – I was worried sick, and I heard on the news that two got killed and I was panicking, and my wife, she…”

He kept blubbering, and she gave him a cautious pat on the back. “Um-“

“And she found out you were in the prison, and she just about lost her mind. I think she’s still yelling at some officer out in reception- but I’m so glad you’re okay!” He draws back, a hand still resting on her shoulder. “Let me take you back to the house. How’re you feeling? A-about all this? Do you need anything?”

Barbara stares at him. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Wh- huh? You didn’t hear about what happened?”

“I mean, obviously, someone really fucked up, ‘cause I’m not in the shelter.” She gives him a half-shrug. “Nobody’s filled me in on anything, though.”

Robert shoots a glance at the officer standing by the door, and looks back at her. He stands up, and extends a hand. “Let’s get you out of here first.”

Staring at his offered hand, Barbara gets that crushing feeling again. She won’t admit it, she won’t even name it, but it’s all too familiar to her.

* * *

“And so then Ruby Dragon teaches Arianna about how to ride her, and they’re running away when Ari starts having dreams about this elf. And she’s in trouble, so Ari’s like, ‘Oh, no, we’ve gotta rescue her!’ So they start flying across the desert, and that’s where I’m at right now!”

Mattie leans back on the couch, her arms waving the book around as she tries to explain it. Barbara has to sit back a bit before she gets clocked in the head.

“Wow.” Barbara smiles. “Sounds like one cool book, huh?"

“I really like it!”

“And it’s pretty long, too. Jeez, I wasn’t reading stuff like that when I was your age. That's good.”

Mattie blushes. “It’s kind of tricky. But Alcor helps me with some of the weird pre-Transcendence words.”

“Oh. It’s written pre-Transcendence?”

“Yeah! The author’s got to be a kajillion years old by now! Or dead. Probably dead.”

“He’s probably dead.” She sits back, pursing her lips. “So, uh, Alcor just gave you that book, huh? He has a copy lying around or something?”

“Yeah! He said it was one of his favourite books when he was my age.”

“Oh, I bet it’s real nerdy, then.”

She giggles. “It is a little.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s got this, like, super complicated magic system – he keeps trying to explain it to me, and I’m just like, ‘I don’t care how it happens, I just want to see a bunch of fireballs!’ And then he gets all mopey.”

Barbara chuckles. “Sounds like him. Jeez, what an idiot.”

“Hey, don’t say that.”

She looks over. “What?”

“Don’t call him an idiot.” Mattie looks away. “It’s mean.”

First, Barbara laughs a little – not because it's funny, it’s just instinctual. Then she leans forwards. “Kid, I’m only joking. You know I joke around a lot, right?”

“I know, but you aren’t joking when you talk about Alcor like that. He’s not an idiot; he’s actually really smart.”

Barbara rolls her eyes. “I’m sure he’d like you to think that, huh.”

“Please, stop it.” She hugs the book close to her chest. “I wish you guys could just get along.”

Mattie looks like she’s going to say something more, but after a moment she closes her mouth. The house is suddenly all too quiet. Barbara clears her throat.

“I mean, that’s not up to me.”

Mattie just sits there. Barbara tries again.

“Believe me, kid, I’ve tried. But at this point, the ball’s kinda in his court, you know?” A pause. “It’s not as easy as just ‘getting along’; the guy literally thinks I’m evil. He just looks right at me and all he sees is the old Bill soul, you know? I bet he’s told you about it hundreds of times.”

A shrug from Mattie - or maybe that's a shudder. Barbara shivers; she feels that chill come over the room again. She scowls. Oh, of course he’s watching. Of course.

“Well, you know, I don’t think he’s been entirely fair with me about it. He’s never liked me, he’s never trusted me, he hardly ever lets me see you – all ‘cause of something I can’t even change, that happened literally thousands of years ago. You can’t tell me that’s not just a little bit messed up, Matts.” She pauses, and huffs. “Well, I think so. He doesn’t like me ‘cause of some ‘bad soul’ BS, and he only likes you ‘cause you’re a-“

Her throat closes. Literally closes. She gasps for breath.

“ _That’s enough_.”

From the foyer, a figure steps out of the shadows, burning blue with rage.

“Alcor,” Barbara chokes out. “Breaking… your own rules… again… huh?”

“I had to step in.” He stabs a finger at her, and she can just about breathe again. “How dare you try and trash talk me to my sister?”

“You mean, my sister?” She crosses her arms. “Cause you’ve got that weird Mizar soul shit going on, but, you know, as far as an actual family tree would go-“

“Shut up.”

“Or what? You gonna force choke me again? Because that’s setting such a _great_ example for Mattie. Good job with the parenting. Ten out of ten.”

Alcor’s form is flickering, and she can’t help but smile. He’s so goddamn easy to wind up.

“You’re not as innocent as you like to pretend, Barbara.” He glowers at her. “And it’s not just because of your soul, okay? The way you put me down every time I bring Mattie over-”

“What, because I tell her I miss her? That I wish I could see her more? She already fucking knows it’s because of you; that's not putting you down!”

“If you could just be-“

“Just be what? What, Alcor?” Barbara steps up to him. “From the second you came barging into _my_ family, you’ve had it out for me! I’ve tried to be nice! Ohhh, I’ve tried! And you’re always saying, ‘if you could just be this’ or ‘if you could just be that’, but you know what? I don’t think it’s me!” She shoves a finger right up to his chin. “It’s you! You’re always looking for some reason to hate me, to trip me up, to make me look bad, and you know what, once I realised that, it’s gotten a little fucking tiring to keep pretending the problem is anything else!”

“You-“

“Bad soul! That’s me! Good soul! That’s Mattie. And I’m such a _baaad influence_ on her, aren’t I? God forbid we see each other more than three days a year – no, that wouldn't do!” She bares a smile at him. “By the way, that’s another great parenting lesson right there. ‘Hey, Mattie, some people just have bad souls and they’re evil forever.’ Oh, that sounds like a well-adjusted worldview. She should definitely go out in the world with that mindset.” Barbara finally steps back, her voice dripping with venomous contempt. “Then again, maybe I'm being unfair. After all, what kind of parenting ability am I supposed to expect from a demon?”

Alcor’s wings are quivering in rage. All the colour has drained from his form, and yellow brickwork shines out from the utter darkness, glinting dangerously like light caught from the edge of a blade. And his eyes… Barbara thinks she might have gone a little too far this time.

He raises one hand, and his mouth opens like a dimension to another world, and-

 _Slam_.

A book smashes into the wooden floor, and both Barbara and Alcor jump. They turn to look at the couch, where Mattie is sitting. Little Mattie, whose cheeks are blotchy, whose eyes are watering, but who stares them both down with an unblinking fury. She's too choked up to talk, but the look in her eyes says it all. 

Her chin trembles. She wipes her face, swipes her knitting needles from the seat, gets up and storms out of the room without a single word. Barbara can hear her feet stomping up the stairs, and a loud bang as she slams a door.

“Mattie…” Alcor says, and takes a half step towards the foyer. The shadows are gone, and he’s wearing such a look of dejection, Barbara would give him a hug if he wasn’t-

She stops herself there. Stares down at the book on the floor, the pages all ruffled, and sighs. That was… not what she wanted to happen.

“Hey.” It’s Alcor. He’s not looking at her, but his tone is more measured. “I’m… sorry. I should’ve… handled that more maturely.”

“Yeah. You’re like, what, thousands of years old?”

He gives a thin smile. “Even a bit more than that. I should really act my age, huh.”

Barbara nods. The conversation hangs there, distinctly unfinished. Alcor, she notices, is staring at her expectantly.

She looks down. Down at the book, lying on the floor.

“Don’t try and guilt me.” She says through clenched teeth. “I meant every word I said.”

He doesn't reply to that. At the edges of her vision, Barbara can see him step away. She can hear the stairs creak as he ascends them. She can hear him knock. Pause. Knock again. She doesn’t hear the door open.

Thin walls, she thinks, and gives herself a wry smile. She bends down and picks up the book. Straightens the pages; the bookmark is almost falling out, so she pushes it back in.

And then she just holds it. She holds it, and she thinks of that face Mattie gave her, and she feels that awful, crushing feeling in her chest.

“It’s not my fault,” She mutters to the book, but the feeling keeps squeezing at her.

It’s funny how it does that.


End file.
